Azir
(#53322244)
Level 12 Skydancer
Familiar
Scaleside Noggle
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 47/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Skydancer
This dragon is hibernating.
Expand the dragon details section.
Collapse the dragon details section.
Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.66 m
Wingspan
3.38 m
Weight
646.65 kg
Genetics
Buttercup
Wasp
Wasp
Gold
Bee
Bee
Seafoam
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 12 Skydancer
EXP: 12474 / 38956
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
7
INT
25
VIT
6
MND
7
Biography
Once upon a time, a dragon found darkness.
And he fell in love with it.
Nobody knew where he came from, or who he was in the beginning. His existence was as mysterious as magic itself. But rumours murmured of a story that laid behind his entire identity — a story long forgotten, a story of hunger and ambition...
Long ago, before the dragon was known throughout the land, he belong to a relatively normal clan. He had relatively normal parents, relatively normal clanmates, and lived a relatively normal life. His clanmates were good to him, he was not singled out, nor looked down upon, nor thought of as misfortune. Tragic was the exact opposite of what words could be used to describe his childhood.
Yet the dragon was not content.
He was not interested in having a placid life, nor interested in having good parents. He had not a care for his clanmates, nor did he find much to say for his clan. They were good to him, yes, but he was also fine without them. What he wanted was what he did not have, and what he did not have was the powerful, mysterious force dragons called “magic”.
Despite being a Skydancer, the dragon did not possess the magical reservoir that his kind was normally born with. He was intelligent, but he was not powerful, and this grated upon him and made him furious. His clanmates assured him that all was fine, and that magic wasn’t the only important thing in life, but he was not convinced. Why, he would ask whoever there was to listen. Why had he been born with no magic? Why, of all things to be born without?
Because of this, the dragon did not have a happy childhood. He was constantly envious of his magic-bearing clanmates, and hateful of the fact that he could not wield their power himself. His desire was overwhelming, and a dark haze of hunger consumed his mind. He pored over book after book, translating ancient text — all to no avail. There was nothing that could give him magic, and he was despondent with despair.
Then one day, he found a spell.
It was a summoning spell for an entity so ancient that its name had been long lost. Summoning spells, unlike regular spells, did not require magic; rather, it needed magical ingredients, and ingredients the dragon had aplenty. He quietly snuck outside of his clan and found a secret cave to prepare the ritual for the summoning. Then, on the night of the new moon, he spoke the spell. A dark smoke poured forth from the summoning circle, and as sleep found the dragon, so did dreams.
In his dream, the entity came to him, in a draconian form made out of smoke. It asked, amused and knowing, what the dragon what a mere mortal like it could possibly want.
“I want your magic,” the dragon replied. “Give me power.”
The entity’s face shifted to reveal quasar eyes of incredible energy. “Oh? That is interesting. Since you summoned me, I assume you understand what power you are asking for, no?”
“Yes,” the dragon answered. “I am asking for fiendish magic. I am asking for magic that steals the soul.”
“In other words, you will gain the power of those you kill.” The entity said. “It is the darkest of all magicks, and the most corruptible. Better dragons than you have possessed this magic, and failed to return to the side of light. What makes you think you can wield it better than they?”
The dragon stared up at the entity. He took a deep breath. Steeled his resolve. “Perhaps I do not plan to side with the light.” He whispered.
The entity stared at him, then laughed a deep, rumbling laugh.
“How enlightening. Very well.” It murmured. “I will bestow the fiendish magic upon you, but there will be a price. What are you willing to sacrifice?”
“Anything,” the dragon said bravely. “And everything.”
The entity seemed to smile.
“Very well,” it said. “I will grant you the power you asked for. But do not regret the path you have now paved for yourself, for it is a path of no return.” The entity laughed, its voice echoing through the dream until it shook the entire scape to its roots. The dreamscape began collapsing, and the dragon looked up, terrified, to see the universe falling upon him.
And he woke.
Around him was a burned circle of lost runes. He staggered to his feet, feeling no more powerful than before he’d fallen asleep. Shaking out his charred feathers, he stumbled out into the weak sunlight of the red-hazed Scarred Wasteland.
Immediately, he knew something was wrong.
Vultures circled the sky, other larger raptors mirroring their movements. A heavy sense of foreboding filled the air like fog. Smoke could be clearly traced in the air. The dragon, heart tight, flew across the bloodied skies to the site of his lair.
Or rather, what had been left of it.
The clan had been decimated, warriors and mages, young and old alike. Bodies were strewn across the rubble, some still distinguishable, others not so much. The dragon alighted on a sharp outcropping of rock, staring blankly at the dead eyes of his family.
The dragon sat down, shocked.
The reason he had wanted to be a mage was entirely because he wanted to be like his own kind. He wanted to wield magic as his clanmates did. He wanted to be able to aid his family like they did. True, he thought his clan boring, but he had never wanted their deaths.
Is this the price for fiendish magic? What have I done?
The dragon might've been upset about not being able to have magic. He might've been jealous of his clanmates, but he had never once despised them. Never.
Then, quietly he began laughing, choking on his tears. This was the price of what was now his magic. This was the future that he had carved for himself. The mages he’d envied were dead. The dragons he’d been close to were now nonexistent. There were no bonds to hold him back now, no warm, snuggly feelings to keep what humanity left in him alight.
His laughter called the attention of previously unnoticed mages that had survived the slaughter. They raced to him, demanding the reason for his horrible, careless laughter. The dragon looked down at them. Took a deep breath. Struggled against the fiend within him. But he could not resist the hunger to devour the magic of the mages before him. His feverish mind fought with itself, and when he looked at his clanmates again, he could not focus on their faces, only on the desire within him. Those mages -- they were simply stepping-stones to his first act of a fiend. He had to kill them to get stronger. He had to -- he wanted to -- he --
I can't...stop...!
When he was done with them, he could feel their magicks seeping into him, empowering him with new energy and purpose. The dragon stood quietly over their bodies for a second, trembling with terror. Then he inhaled. Magic flared into existence all around him, turning the scales of his clanmates and family into dust. He stayed there within the flames, until his tears dried in the heat of pyre, and night fell upon the world again.
He stayed, until there was nothing left to stay for. Then, steeling his will, he gave himself a new name, and set off to conquer the world of magic.
He called himself Azir, the Completed One, entourage of Power itself.
* * * * *
Years passed.
The world of magic trembled in fear.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a mysterious and powerful mage had appeared, wreaking havoc as he pleased. No mage could stand against him, much less a warrior. Darkness was his ally, and so was the light. He sat atop a throne at the very peak of the pyramid of mages, and no one dared challenge him.
At least...not magically.
For even the greatest of the great have weaknesses, and those weaknesses were often not physical, but emotional. Despite having achieved all he'd ever wanted, Azir had uncannily sacrificed something he would never have again -- a family. Dragons that he could trust his back with. Dragons that saw him for who he was, and accepted him. He had exchanged the dragons who'd loved him for power, and loneliness was something no power, no matter how great, could conquer.
And it was loneliness that near-drove Azir to the point of insanity.
As a young hatchling, he'd always wanted excitement and adventure to add colour to his black and white life. But now, as a grown adult and as the target of every organisation that ever sided with the illusionary draconian "justice" and light", Azir found himself subtly, very subtly, missing the peacefulness of the past. He told himself that he would not regret. Regret could do nothing for him. But still, he wished.
And then, there was him.
Xerath.
Xerath was not a mage, but a powerful warrior. He was considered as one of the most notorious warriors in Sornieth, whereas Azir was the same for mages. Because of this, they had some common ground. And because of this, Azir was curious enough about the other dragon to approach him.
Xerath was not the first to recognise Azir from the crowd, but the first to acknowledge him on an equal level. They spoke together cautiously, each knowing the other's reputation. Azir was wary of Xerath at first. He'd become accustomed to every powerful dragons being against him and wanting his life. But Xerath was different. Azir used a spell to see into his mind, and saw no evil intent against Azir himself. He was relieved and suspicious, the former more than the latter. Could Xerath, he asked himself, be trusted? Could he be...a friend?
It was Xerath, who suggested that they work together. Azir was reluctant to accept the invitation at first, for if he allied himself with Xerath, then he would also make enemies with the dragons hunting the warrior down. But for some reason, he found himself unable to refuse. There was a longing inside of him, a warmth he had long forgotten. He knew it was a horrible weakness to attempt to bond with another dragon, but in the end, he found himself accepting Xerath's request.
When word spread that what was possibly the two most nefarious dragons in the world teaming up, t did not take long for dragons to realise that they'd be better off allied with Azir than against him Many a brave mages and fighters set off to parley with Azir and Xerath, upon which none of them returned. Azir needed no companions or illusionary promises of alliance as long as Xerath was at his side, and Xerath had his own reasons. Together, masters of the art of magic and blade, they dominated the world of fighting.
With their names striking fear into the hearts of all those in earshot, it was inevitable that they caught the attention of the warlord Cassius, who had long been looking for a mage that could aid him in battle. He'd heard of Azir before, but had not a desire to recruit him for fear that the mage might turn against him. But after hearing the widespread rumours of Azir's doings, he had grim hope that perhaps an offer as dark as Azir himself would bait the mage and lure him in.
The warlord tracked Azir down -- no easy task -- and bade the mage to join Legion. Azir was curious about Cassius' lack of fear, and even more curious about what could possibly be going on in Legion. Azir himself had had an interest in joining a clan again, for there were certain things that could only be required within a clan. Besides, joining one also meant protection, and if Cassius was willing to risk being attacked by the dragons who'd been tracking Azir, then the mage was perfectly fine with that.
"But there will be a price." Azir promised. "There is always a price. And I will only join you on the condition that my companion, Xerath, joins as well."
Xerath was indignant. "I don't want to work with a filthy -- "
"Xerath."
The Skydancer warrior huffed, but grumbled an agreement. For some reason Azir did not yet understand, Xerath never argued against him.
"So?" Azir asked. "Do you accept the terms?"
Cassius' eyes were bright and bold. "Certainly."
"Then it is done." Azir spread his wings, his eyes flashing dangerously. Cassius held his gaze unflinchingly.
"So what is the price?" The warlord asked.
Azir smiled.
"You will find out." He promised.
* * * * *
Malicious, quiet, and reserved, Azir is truly the prized weapon of Legion. There has yet to be a dragon who could best him in the art of magic, and with Xerath as his personal bodyguard, it would be a feat to lay a single claw on him. Even Cassius, who is intelligently known as the leader that Azir bowed down to, fears his power, and dares not to be his enemies.
Within the Legion, Azir is best known as, simply, Cassius' mage. It is not known if Azir truly sees Cassius as his superior, but so far, he has willingly completed all the Cassius has asked him to do. It was Azir who captured Cadfel, the first captive of Auroral Dissonance membership to ever fall into the clutches of the enemy, and it was he who slew Vivienne. Although it may seem that power is all Azir has, Azir has not lost the original intelligence that he was born with. Though he prefers to use magic to deal with the more trivial things, his cunning is as unmatched as his magical abilities. Even without his magic, Azir is a powerful force to be reckon with.
It is unclear what exactly Azir asked from Cassius in return for his loyalty, but members of the Legion have noticed that Azir's magic has gotten increasingly powerful. Enough, in fact, that he should be able to easily overpower Cassius. However, for some reason the others, especially Xerath, can't understand, Azir has made it clear that those who dare approach the warlord with ill intentions will end up the next living doormat on the ground. Some dragons whisper that Azir's loyalty is entirely based on something valuable that Cassius has taken from him as a bargaining tool, while other dragons, wiser ones, murmur of a certain ritual connected with fiendish magic...
- By MythicalViper
By MissAlavesa
By TheDragonEmperor
By Gidgetech, featuring Xerath
A Z I R 
code by Archaic #19153
And he fell in love with it.
Nobody knew where he came from, or who he was in the beginning. His existence was as mysterious as magic itself. But rumours murmured of a story that laid behind his entire identity — a story long forgotten, a story of hunger and ambition...
Long ago, before the dragon was known throughout the land, he belong to a relatively normal clan. He had relatively normal parents, relatively normal clanmates, and lived a relatively normal life. His clanmates were good to him, he was not singled out, nor looked down upon, nor thought of as misfortune. Tragic was the exact opposite of what words could be used to describe his childhood.
Yet the dragon was not content.
He was not interested in having a placid life, nor interested in having good parents. He had not a care for his clanmates, nor did he find much to say for his clan. They were good to him, yes, but he was also fine without them. What he wanted was what he did not have, and what he did not have was the powerful, mysterious force dragons called “magic”.
Despite being a Skydancer, the dragon did not possess the magical reservoir that his kind was normally born with. He was intelligent, but he was not powerful, and this grated upon him and made him furious. His clanmates assured him that all was fine, and that magic wasn’t the only important thing in life, but he was not convinced. Why, he would ask whoever there was to listen. Why had he been born with no magic? Why, of all things to be born without?
Because of this, the dragon did not have a happy childhood. He was constantly envious of his magic-bearing clanmates, and hateful of the fact that he could not wield their power himself. His desire was overwhelming, and a dark haze of hunger consumed his mind. He pored over book after book, translating ancient text — all to no avail. There was nothing that could give him magic, and he was despondent with despair.
Then one day, he found a spell.
It was a summoning spell for an entity so ancient that its name had been long lost. Summoning spells, unlike regular spells, did not require magic; rather, it needed magical ingredients, and ingredients the dragon had aplenty. He quietly snuck outside of his clan and found a secret cave to prepare the ritual for the summoning. Then, on the night of the new moon, he spoke the spell. A dark smoke poured forth from the summoning circle, and as sleep found the dragon, so did dreams.
In his dream, the entity came to him, in a draconian form made out of smoke. It asked, amused and knowing, what the dragon what a mere mortal like it could possibly want.
“I want your magic,” the dragon replied. “Give me power.”
The entity’s face shifted to reveal quasar eyes of incredible energy. “Oh? That is interesting. Since you summoned me, I assume you understand what power you are asking for, no?”
“Yes,” the dragon answered. “I am asking for fiendish magic. I am asking for magic that steals the soul.”
“In other words, you will gain the power of those you kill.” The entity said. “It is the darkest of all magicks, and the most corruptible. Better dragons than you have possessed this magic, and failed to return to the side of light. What makes you think you can wield it better than they?”
The dragon stared up at the entity. He took a deep breath. Steeled his resolve. “Perhaps I do not plan to side with the light.” He whispered.
The entity stared at him, then laughed a deep, rumbling laugh.
“How enlightening. Very well.” It murmured. “I will bestow the fiendish magic upon you, but there will be a price. What are you willing to sacrifice?”
“Anything,” the dragon said bravely. “And everything.”
The entity seemed to smile.
“Very well,” it said. “I will grant you the power you asked for. But do not regret the path you have now paved for yourself, for it is a path of no return.” The entity laughed, its voice echoing through the dream until it shook the entire scape to its roots. The dreamscape began collapsing, and the dragon looked up, terrified, to see the universe falling upon him.
And he woke.
Around him was a burned circle of lost runes. He staggered to his feet, feeling no more powerful than before he’d fallen asleep. Shaking out his charred feathers, he stumbled out into the weak sunlight of the red-hazed Scarred Wasteland.
Immediately, he knew something was wrong.
Vultures circled the sky, other larger raptors mirroring their movements. A heavy sense of foreboding filled the air like fog. Smoke could be clearly traced in the air. The dragon, heart tight, flew across the bloodied skies to the site of his lair.
Or rather, what had been left of it.
The clan had been decimated, warriors and mages, young and old alike. Bodies were strewn across the rubble, some still distinguishable, others not so much. The dragon alighted on a sharp outcropping of rock, staring blankly at the dead eyes of his family.
The dragon sat down, shocked.
The reason he had wanted to be a mage was entirely because he wanted to be like his own kind. He wanted to wield magic as his clanmates did. He wanted to be able to aid his family like they did. True, he thought his clan boring, but he had never wanted their deaths.
Is this the price for fiendish magic? What have I done?
The dragon might've been upset about not being able to have magic. He might've been jealous of his clanmates, but he had never once despised them. Never.
Then, quietly he began laughing, choking on his tears. This was the price of what was now his magic. This was the future that he had carved for himself. The mages he’d envied were dead. The dragons he’d been close to were now nonexistent. There were no bonds to hold him back now, no warm, snuggly feelings to keep what humanity left in him alight.
His laughter called the attention of previously unnoticed mages that had survived the slaughter. They raced to him, demanding the reason for his horrible, careless laughter. The dragon looked down at them. Took a deep breath. Struggled against the fiend within him. But he could not resist the hunger to devour the magic of the mages before him. His feverish mind fought with itself, and when he looked at his clanmates again, he could not focus on their faces, only on the desire within him. Those mages -- they were simply stepping-stones to his first act of a fiend. He had to kill them to get stronger. He had to -- he wanted to -- he --
I can't...stop...!
When he was done with them, he could feel their magicks seeping into him, empowering him with new energy and purpose. The dragon stood quietly over their bodies for a second, trembling with terror. Then he inhaled. Magic flared into existence all around him, turning the scales of his clanmates and family into dust. He stayed there within the flames, until his tears dried in the heat of pyre, and night fell upon the world again.
He stayed, until there was nothing left to stay for. Then, steeling his will, he gave himself a new name, and set off to conquer the world of magic.
He called himself Azir, the Completed One, entourage of Power itself.
* * * * *
Years passed.
The world of magic trembled in fear.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a mysterious and powerful mage had appeared, wreaking havoc as he pleased. No mage could stand against him, much less a warrior. Darkness was his ally, and so was the light. He sat atop a throne at the very peak of the pyramid of mages, and no one dared challenge him.
At least...not magically.
For even the greatest of the great have weaknesses, and those weaknesses were often not physical, but emotional. Despite having achieved all he'd ever wanted, Azir had uncannily sacrificed something he would never have again -- a family. Dragons that he could trust his back with. Dragons that saw him for who he was, and accepted him. He had exchanged the dragons who'd loved him for power, and loneliness was something no power, no matter how great, could conquer.
And it was loneliness that near-drove Azir to the point of insanity.
As a young hatchling, he'd always wanted excitement and adventure to add colour to his black and white life. But now, as a grown adult and as the target of every organisation that ever sided with the illusionary draconian "justice" and light", Azir found himself subtly, very subtly, missing the peacefulness of the past. He told himself that he would not regret. Regret could do nothing for him. But still, he wished.
And then, there was him.
Xerath.
Xerath was not a mage, but a powerful warrior. He was considered as one of the most notorious warriors in Sornieth, whereas Azir was the same for mages. Because of this, they had some common ground. And because of this, Azir was curious enough about the other dragon to approach him.
Xerath was not the first to recognise Azir from the crowd, but the first to acknowledge him on an equal level. They spoke together cautiously, each knowing the other's reputation. Azir was wary of Xerath at first. He'd become accustomed to every powerful dragons being against him and wanting his life. But Xerath was different. Azir used a spell to see into his mind, and saw no evil intent against Azir himself. He was relieved and suspicious, the former more than the latter. Could Xerath, he asked himself, be trusted? Could he be...a friend?
It was Xerath, who suggested that they work together. Azir was reluctant to accept the invitation at first, for if he allied himself with Xerath, then he would also make enemies with the dragons hunting the warrior down. But for some reason, he found himself unable to refuse. There was a longing inside of him, a warmth he had long forgotten. He knew it was a horrible weakness to attempt to bond with another dragon, but in the end, he found himself accepting Xerath's request.
When word spread that what was possibly the two most nefarious dragons in the world teaming up, t did not take long for dragons to realise that they'd be better off allied with Azir than against him Many a brave mages and fighters set off to parley with Azir and Xerath, upon which none of them returned. Azir needed no companions or illusionary promises of alliance as long as Xerath was at his side, and Xerath had his own reasons. Together, masters of the art of magic and blade, they dominated the world of fighting.
With their names striking fear into the hearts of all those in earshot, it was inevitable that they caught the attention of the warlord Cassius, who had long been looking for a mage that could aid him in battle. He'd heard of Azir before, but had not a desire to recruit him for fear that the mage might turn against him. But after hearing the widespread rumours of Azir's doings, he had grim hope that perhaps an offer as dark as Azir himself would bait the mage and lure him in.
The warlord tracked Azir down -- no easy task -- and bade the mage to join Legion. Azir was curious about Cassius' lack of fear, and even more curious about what could possibly be going on in Legion. Azir himself had had an interest in joining a clan again, for there were certain things that could only be required within a clan. Besides, joining one also meant protection, and if Cassius was willing to risk being attacked by the dragons who'd been tracking Azir, then the mage was perfectly fine with that.
"But there will be a price." Azir promised. "There is always a price. And I will only join you on the condition that my companion, Xerath, joins as well."
Xerath was indignant. "I don't want to work with a filthy -- "
"Xerath."
The Skydancer warrior huffed, but grumbled an agreement. For some reason Azir did not yet understand, Xerath never argued against him.
"So?" Azir asked. "Do you accept the terms?"
Cassius' eyes were bright and bold. "Certainly."
"Then it is done." Azir spread his wings, his eyes flashing dangerously. Cassius held his gaze unflinchingly.
"So what is the price?" The warlord asked.
Azir smiled.
"You will find out." He promised.
* * * * *
Malicious, quiet, and reserved, Azir is truly the prized weapon of Legion. There has yet to be a dragon who could best him in the art of magic, and with Xerath as his personal bodyguard, it would be a feat to lay a single claw on him. Even Cassius, who is intelligently known as the leader that Azir bowed down to, fears his power, and dares not to be his enemies.
Within the Legion, Azir is best known as, simply, Cassius' mage. It is not known if Azir truly sees Cassius as his superior, but so far, he has willingly completed all the Cassius has asked him to do. It was Azir who captured Cadfel, the first captive of Auroral Dissonance membership to ever fall into the clutches of the enemy, and it was he who slew Vivienne. Although it may seem that power is all Azir has, Azir has not lost the original intelligence that he was born with. Though he prefers to use magic to deal with the more trivial things, his cunning is as unmatched as his magical abilities. Even without his magic, Azir is a powerful force to be reckon with.
It is unclear what exactly Azir asked from Cassius in return for his loyalty, but members of the Legion have noticed that Azir's magic has gotten increasingly powerful. Enough, in fact, that he should be able to easily overpower Cassius. However, for some reason the others, especially Xerath, can't understand, Azir has made it clear that those who dare approach the warlord with ill intentions will end up the next living doormat on the ground. Some dragons whisper that Azir's loyalty is entirely based on something valuable that Cassius has taken from him as a bargaining tool, while other dragons, wiser ones, murmur of a certain ritual connected with fiendish magic...
- By MythicalViper
By MissAlavesa
By TheDragonEmperor
By Gidgetech, featuring Xerath
A Z I R
|
Once upon a time, a dragon found darkness. And he fell in love with it. Nobody knew where he came from, or who he was in the beginning. His existence was as mysterious as magic itself. But rumours murmured of a story that laid behind his entire identity — a story long forgotten, a story of hunger and ambition... Long ago, before the dragon was known throughout the land, he belong to a relatively normal clan. He had relatively normal parents, relatively normal clanmates, and lived a relatively normal life. His clanmates were good to him, he was not singled out, nor looked down upon, nor thought of as misfortune. Tragic was the exact opposite of what words could be used to describe his childhood. Yet the dragon was not content. He was not interested in having a placid life, nor interested in having good parents. He had not a care for his clanmates, nor did he find much to say for his clan. They were good to him, yes, but he was also fine without them. What he wanted was what he did not have, and what he did not have was the powerful, mysterious force dragons called “magic”. Despite being a Skydancer, the dragon did not possess the magical reservoir that his kind was normally born with. He was intelligent, but he was not powerful, and this grated upon him and made him furious. His clanmates assured him that all was fine, and that magic wasn’t the only important thing in life, but he was not convinced. Why, he would ask whoever there was to listen. Why had he been born with no magic? Why, of all things to be born without?
Because of this, the dragon did not have a happy childhood. He was constantly envious of his magic-bearing clanmates, and hateful of the fact that he could not wield their power himself. His desire was overwhelming, and a dark haze of hunger consumed his mind. He pored over book after book, translating ancient text — all to no avail. There was nothing that could give him magic, and he was despondent with despair. Then one day, he found a spell. |
     Cassius leader |
 Xerath protector(?) |
 Mother leader |
 Kohana slave |
|
It was a summoning spell for an entity so ancient that its name had been long lost. Summoning spells, unlike regular spells, did not require magic; rather, it needed magical ingredients, and ingredients the dragon had aplenty. He quietly snuck outside of his clan and found a secret cave to prepare the ritual for the summoning. Then, on the night of the new moon, he spoke the spell. A dark smoke poured forth from the summoning circle, and as sleep found the dragon, so did dreams. In his dream, the entity came to him, in a draconian form made out of smoke. It asked, amused and knowing, what the dragon what a mere mortal like it could possibly want. “I want your magic,” the dragon replied. “Give me power.” The entity’s face shifted to reveal quasar eyes of incredible energy. “Oh? That is interesting. Since you summoned me, I assume you understand what power you are asking for, no?” “Yes,” the dragon answered. “I am asking for fiendish magic. I am asking for magic that steals the soul.” “In other words, you will gain the power of those you kill.” The entity said. “It is the darkest of all magicks, and the most corruptible. Better dragons than you have possessed this magic, and failed to return to the side of light. What makes you think you can wield it better than they?” The dragon stared up at the entity. He took a deep breath. Steeled his resolve. “Perhaps I do not plan to side with the light.” He whispered. The entity stared at him, then laughed a deep, rumbling laugh. “How enlightening. Very well.” It murmured. “I will bestow the fiendish magic upon you, but there will be a price. What are you willing to sacrifice?” “Anything,” the dragon said bravely. “And everything.” The entity seemed to smile. “Very well,” it said. “I will grant you the power you asked for. But do not regret the path you have now paved for yourself, for it is a path of no return.” The entity laughed, its voice echoing through the dream until it shook the entire scape to its roots. The dreamscape began collapsing, and the dragon looked up, terrified, to see the universe falling upon him. And he woke. Around him was a burned circle of lost runes. He staggered to his feet, feeling no more powerful than before he’d fallen asleep. Shaking out his charred feathers, he stumbled out into the weak sunlight of the red-hazed Scarred Wasteland. Immediately, he knew something was wrong. Vultures circled the sky, other larger raptors mirroring their movements. A heavy sense of foreboding filled the air like fog. Smoke could be clearly traced in the air. The dragon, heart tight, flew across the bloodied skies to the site of his lair. Or rather, what had been left of it. The clan had been decimated, warriors and mages, young and old alike. Bodies were strewn across the rubble, some still distinguishable, others not so much. The dragon alighted on a sharp outcropping of rock, staring blankly at the dead eyes of his family. The dragon sat down, shocked. The reason he had wanted to be a mage was entirely because he wanted to be like his own kind. He wanted to wield magic as his clanmates did. He wanted to be able to aid his family like they did. True, he thought his clan boring, but he had never wanted their deaths. Is this the price for fiendish magic? What have I done? The dragon might've been upset about not being able to have magic. He might've been jealous of his clanmates, but he had never once despised them. Never. Then, quietly he began laughing, choking on his tears. This was the price of what was now his magic. This was the future that he had carved for himself. The mages he’d envied were dead. The dragons he’d been close to were now nonexistent. There were no bonds to hold him back now, no warm, snuggly feelings to keep what humanity left in him alight. His laughter called the attention of previously unnoticed mages that had survived the slaughter. They raced to him, demanding the reason for his horrible, careless laughter. The dragon looked down at them. Took a deep breath. Struggled against the fiend within him. But he could not resist the hunger to devour the magic of the mages before him. His feverish mind fought with itself, and when he looked at his clanmates again, he could not focus on their faces, only on the desire within him. Those mages -- they were simply stepping-stones to his first act of a fiend. He had to kill them to get stronger. He had to -- he wanted to -- he -- I can't...stop...! When he was done with them, he could feel their magicks seeping into him, empowering him with new energy and purpose. The dragon stood quietly over their bodies for a second, trembling with terror. Then he inhaled. Magic flared into existence all around him, turning the scales of his clanmates and family into dust. He stayed there within the flames, until his tears dried in the heat of pyre, and night fell upon the world again. He stayed, until there was nothing left to stay for. Then, steeling his will, he gave himself a new name, and set off to conquer the world of magic. He called himself Azir, the Completed One, entourage of Power itself. * * * * * Years passed. The world of magic trembled in fear. Seemingly out of nowhere, a mysterious and powerful mage had appeared, wreaking havoc as he pleased. No mage could stand against him, much less a warrior. Darkness was his ally, and so was the light. He sat atop a throne at the very peak of the pyramid of mages, and no one dared challenge him. At least...not magically. For even the greatest of the great have weaknesses, and those weaknesses were often not physical, but emotional. Despite having achieved all he'd ever wanted, Azir had uncannily sacrificed something he would never have again -- a family. Dragons that he could trust his back with. Dragons that saw him for who he was, and accepted him. He had exchanged the dragons who'd loved him for power, and loneliness was something no power, no matter how great, could conquer. And it was loneliness that near-drove Azir to the point of insanity. As a young hatchling, he'd always wanted excitement and adventure to add colour to his black and white life. But now, as a grown adult and as the target of every organisation that ever sided with the illusionary draconian "justice" and light", Azir found himself subtly, very subtly, missing the peacefulness of the past. He told himself that he would not regret. Regret could do nothing for him. But still, he wished. And then, there was him. Xerath. Xerath was not a mage, but a powerful warrior. He was considered as one of the most notorious warriors in Sornieth, whereas Azir was the same for mages. Because of this, they had some common ground. And because of this, Azir was curious enough about the other dragon to approach him. Xerath was not the first to recognise Azir from the crowd, but the first to acknowledge him on an equal level. They spoke together cautiously, each knowing the other's reputation. Azir was wary of Xerath at first. He'd become accustomed to every powerful dragons being against him and wanting his life. But Xerath was different. Azir used a spell to see into his mind, and saw no evil intent against Azir himself. He was relieved and suspicious, the former more than the latter. Could Xerath, he asked himself, be trusted? Could he be...a friend? It was Xerath, who suggested that they work together. Azir was reluctant to accept the invitation at first, for if he allied himself with Xerath, then he would also make enemies with the dragons hunting the warrior down. But for some reason, he found himself unable to refuse. There was a longing inside of him, a warmth he had long forgotten. He knew it was a horrible weakness to attempt to bond with another dragon, but in the end, he found himself accepting Xerath's request. When word spread that what was possibly the two most nefarious dragons in the world teaming up, t did not take long for dragons to realise that they'd be better off allied with Azir than against him Many a brave mages and fighters set off to parley with Azir and Xerath, upon which none of them returned. Azir needed no companions or illusionary promises of alliance as long as Xerath was at his side, and Xerath had his own reasons. Together, masters of the art of magic and blade, they dominated the world of fighting. With their names striking fear into the hearts of all those in earshot, it was inevitable that they caught the attention of the warlord Cassius, who had long been looking for a mage that could aid him in battle. He'd heard of Azir before, but had not a desire to recruit him for fear that the mage might turn against him. But after hearing the widespread rumours of Azir's doings, he had grim hope that perhaps an offer as dark as Azir himself would bait the mage and lure him in. The warlord tracked Azir down -- no easy task -- and bade the mage to join Legion. Azir was curious about Cassius' lack of fear, and even more curious about what could possibly be going on in Legion. Azir himself had had an interest in joining a clan again, for there were certain things that could only be required within a clan. Besides, joining one also meant protection, and if Cassius was willing to risk being attacked by the dragons who'd been tracking Azir, then the mage was perfectly fine with that. "But there will be a price." Azir promised. "There is always a price. And I will only join you on the condition that my companion, Xerath, joins as well." Xerath was indignant. "I don't want to work with a filthy -- " "Xerath." The Skydancer warrior huffed, but grumbled an agreement. For some reason Azir did not yet understand, Xerath never argued against him. "So?" Azir asked. "Do you accept the terms?" Cassius' eyes were bright and bold. "Certainly." "Then it is done." Azir spread his wings, his eyes flashing dangerously. Cassius held his gaze unflinchingly. "So what is the price?" The warlord asked. Azir smiled. "You will find out." He promised. * * * * * Malicious, quiet, and reserved, Azir is truly the prized weapon of Legion. There has yet to be a dragon who could best him in the art of magic, and with Xerath as his personal bodyguard, it would be a feat to lay a single claw on him. Even Cassius, who is intelligently known as the leader that Azir bowed down to, fears his power, and dares not to be his enemies. Within the Legion, Azir is best known as, simply, Cassius' mage. It is not known if Azir truly sees Cassius as his superior, but so far, he has willingly completed all the Cassius has asked him to do. It was Azir who captured Cadfel, the first captive of Auroral Dissonance membership to ever fall into the clutches of the enemy, and it was he who slew Vivienne. Although it may seem that power is all Azir has, Azir has not lost the original intelligence that he was born with. Though he prefers to use magic to deal with the more trivial things, his cunning is as unmatched as his magical abilities. Even without his magic, Azir is a powerful force to be reckon with. It is unclear what exactly Azir asked from Cassius in return for his loyalty, but members of the Legion have noticed that Azir's magic has gotten increasingly powerful. Enough, in fact, that he should be able to easily overpower Cassius. However, for some reason the others, especially Xerath, can't understand, Azir has made it clear that those who dare approach the warlord with ill intentions will end up the next living doormat on the ground. Some dragons whisper that Azir's loyalty is entirely based on something valuable that Cassius has taken from him as a bargaining tool, while other dragons, wiser ones, murmur of a certain ritual connected with fiendish magic... |
|
code by Archaic #19153
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
Feed this dragon Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
Feed this dragon Plants.
You can share this dragon on the forums by either copying the browser URL manually, or using bbcode!
Exalting Azir to the service of the Plaguebringer will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
Do you wish to continue?
- Names must be longer than 2 characters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.
- Names must be no longer than 16 characters.
- Names can only contain letters.